"Angry with you?" he said, with obvious constraint. "No, but I was vexed. I was vexed with a lot of things—that I can hardly explain. Not with you personally—at least—well, at any rate I did not mean to offend you. If I have offended you I ask your pardon——"
Here he paused: these stammering sentences were so insufficient. And then all at once he said——
"Maisrie, who was that young man?"
She looked surprised.
"Do you mean Mr. Glover?"
"Glover?—oh, that is his name. But who is he?—what is he?—how did you come to know him so intimately?——"
Perhaps she began to see a little.
"I don't know him at all, Vincent. He is a friend of my grandfather's—or rather he is the son of a friend of my grandfather's—a wine-merchant in London. We met him on the day we came here——"
"And he lost no time in showing off his acquaintance with you," said Vincent, bitterly, "—driving you up and down the King's Road, before all Brighton!"
At this she lowered her head a little.